


day six; or, on desire

by Deanon



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, it ended up more like, or at least that's what I was going for, with a side of 'laurent is still pretty insecure' and 'damen's an idiot'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:44:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deanon/pseuds/Deanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damen and Laurent attend a diplomatic meeting after assuming the thrones of their countries, and nothing is the same as it once was.</p><p>Six days of a few different kinds of negotiations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	day six; or, on desire

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by and dedicated to Noa, without whom I probably would have exploded with unexpressed feelings about this series, instead of talking on train rides about how Laurent could find ways of testing Damen's self-control.
> 
> Eeked out before King’s Rising assuredly comes and destroys all my theories and expectations. 
> 
> EDIT: yeah, this was totally jossed by KR, but enjoy it anyways!

The job of being a prince – no, now king – of a country was not an easy one. Damen had known this since childhood; he had been brought up on hard lessons and impossible decisions, and he’d faced his share of them in the preceding months, as well. And with luck, with the cessation of the almost-war that had haunted the border with Vere for well over the last century, the job might even get easier with time.

That being king was intolerably _boring_ at times was a hardship he’d been slightly less prepared for, though.

The diplomatic meetings with Vere were scheduled over a course of fifteen days, which had at first seemed excessive. The war was over, a treaty that wasn’t a farce signed, and both countries were eager to begin recovering from the upheavals of rulership and civil wars which had recently destabilized them. Compared to the urgent matters Damen saw in the streets of even his capital city – food shortages, political unrest barely held back from erupting into riots, open tension between those who had supported Kastor and those who had supported Damianos – spending over two weeks discussing the minutiae of a treaty seemed like a foolish waste of time.

And yet, six days into the negotiations, it was clear that they were going to use every single day allotted and then some. The situation on the border was not an easy one, and while the war had ended, a friendship hadn’t yet begun; not between the nations, and certainly not between the people in the border towns, who had suffered raids and mustered arms against each other for years.

The situation between their leaders was similarly fraught, although in a different way.

At first, the news that Laurent would be attending the negotiations – all fifteen days – had been a bright point in the chaos. Their greetings had been nothing but professional, but Damen had expected that. They had begun negotiations shortly after, and Laurent had been as ruthless as ever as they hammered out the largest of the issues first – discussing the location of the border, the ability to arm and assemble troops, the details of a mutual defense policy.

For two days, Damen didn’t see Laurent outside of the negotiation rooms, and had been refused admittance to his chambers on the second night when he’d gone seeking him out.

On the third day, the tension had settled, and other voices had stepped to the fore; generals who had lived on the border for years, leaders who had witnessed the raids, specialists who could lay down all the details that would allow a treaty like this to last.

On the third night, Laurent had come to Damen’s room of his own volition.

They’d talked. Not, by mutual, silent agreement, about the treaty, but about relations between their countries. Sharing anecdotes they had heard from the border. Comparing notes on cultural differences – observed before, but suddenly relevant in a way beyond the personal. They’d laughed about some of them and argued about others. And though Damen had been in a room with Laurent for nearly three days straight, it was not until he drew up a leg to rest an arm on and leisurely told Damen why he was wrong about his own people that Damen truly felt as though Laurent was there.

At the end of the night, Laurent had risen and bid Damen goodnight with a challenging look in his eyes. Damen had walked him to the door, had loomed slightly in his personal space and felt his hands itch to smooth down Laurent’s back, but – when Laurent’s eyes darkened but narrowed at Damen’s proximity – he had backed off.

They had time. And even if this was all he had, it was enough.

* * *

 

The fourth day, though, brought a new tension to it. Once the political stress of the beginning of the negotiations had eased, and Laurent’s walls had relaxed back down even a fraction, Damen couldn’t turn off his consciousness of Laurent. He was suddenly aware of the space between their chairs – inches, at times – and the fall of Laurent’s hair, the smell of him he caught when the air in the room shifted. The slowed pace of the discussions didn’t help. Minutes and hours passed during which nothing more than his presence was needed as voices with far more expertise than him discussed the matters at hand.

When Laurent had entered Damen’s rooms in the early evening of the fourth day, he’d been wearing an amused expression which had not wavered when he saw the way Damen was looking at him. Damen closed the door behind Laurent, but neither of them had shifted; Damen’s arm was now extended over Laurent’s shoulder, bringing them close and nearly boxing Laurent in. Their eyes had met, and Damen had felt suddenly conscious of every breath between them, every place where they were not touching but could be.

“You don’t seem interested in talking today,” Laurent had said.

Damen had lowered the hand that was pressed against the door until he could brush a lock of blond hair off Laurent’s cheek. Nearly imperceptibly, Laurent leaned into the touch.

“Can I,” Damen had asked, and then found that he didn’t know how to end that request. Found he was simultaneously afraid of asking too much and not asking enough.

Laurent didn’t seem to care about the conclusion. “You didn’t wait for a gilded invitation last time.”

“Perhaps I should have,” Damen had said, and then leaned forward and kissed Laurent while his eyes were still wide.

They’d talked that night, too, hours later. About things more personal than their countries; about Damen’s uneasiness on the throne and the way he missed the training fields which he now never saw; about how Laurent missed being able to ride when he wanted to.

Laurent had stayed most of the night, sneaking out sometime before Damen awoke at dawn. He wasn’t sure what the guards of the wing had noticed and what they had not. Either way, they were discreet, and nobody brought up anything the next day at negotiations.

That he now knew he could _have_ Laurent took some of the edge off his staring, but it did not, Damen found, reduce the frequency at all. They had moved into a discussion of limitations on supplies that could be stored at the keeps along Vere’s southern border, and while the topic was important, Damen’s ability to contribute had ended towards the beginning of the day. He knew the keep, had personally overseen the management of it, but the exact levels of supplies, and what kind of men they could supply, and how many, had never been his arena.

Laurent appeared to be paying closer attention, but all that meant was that it was easier to gaze at him out of the corner of his eye, uninterrupted.

Uninterrupted, Damen soon discovered, was not unnoticed. Laurent followed him back to his rooms after dinner, chatting casually about something related to food stores on the border until the door closed behind them. Suddenly he was in Damen’s space, his gaze intense.

“You have the subtlety of an ox,” Laurent said, voice low. “Or was it your intention to simply announce to the entire court that you are hopelessly infatuated with me?”

With the feeling of reaching out to touch a poisonous snake, Damen reached down and placed a hand on Laurent’s waist. When he relaxed into it, though, Damen relaxed with him. “I’d hardly be the only one,” he pointed out, as though Laurent needed the flattery. “Half the court nearly breaks their necks every time you walk through the room.” It was, Damen could privately admit, probably at least partly because Laurent had gotten few chances to interact with the court at large, spending nearly all his time in negotiations, or in Damen’s rooms.

“You are distracted,” Laurent continued. His tone was still harsh, but he hadn’t moved out of the grip of Damen’s hand on his waist. “It is inadvisable. I _am_ your opponent here; you will need all your wits about you.”

“You are not my opponent,” Damen said, and leaned down to kiss him.

The kiss lingered, but when Laurent pulled away, he continued, “I could have made you give me anything during the negotiations today.” He sounded vaguely fascinated at the idea. “You wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“But you didn’t,” Damen said with simple confidence. It was certainly true that the negotiation room could have caught fire at points during that day without Damen flinching, and yet he met Laurent’s eyes with complete confidence that he had not exploited it. Not for his benefit in the treaty, anyways.

Laurent’s gaze stayed steady on him, considering. “No,” he said finally, “I didn’t.” He pulled Damen down into another kiss, and didn’t pull away for a long time.

* * *

 

For the first couple hours of the sixth day’s negotiations, Damen made a genuine effort to pay attention. Failing that, he tried not to obviously focus his attention on Laurent.

If he didn’t know better, though, he’d think that Laurent _wanted_ Damen’s attention focused on him. He’d relaxed into his chair more; his focus was still clearly sword-sharp, but he allowed his head to tilt to the side, letting his hair fall, showing a glimpse of his neck above his harsh Vere collar.

He was wearing the most clothes of anybody in the room, and Damen had seen him divested of all of them the night before, so it made _no sense_ that he would be transfixed by the sight of the flash of skin – and yet, here they were.

It continued, as Damen’s attention wandered back to Laurent and his relaxed posture again and again. Laurent’s hand came up to sweep aside his hair in a long, leisurely movement, and Damen felt his breath shudder a little in his chest.

“Is that necessary?” Laurent asked, voice low and amused, and Damen floundered for a second. _Yes_ , he thought, followed by _this is ridiculous_.

Before either could leave his mouth, though, a council member at the other end of the table – the one who’d been speaking before, Damen realized – began stammering explanations, and Damen realized that the statement hadn’t been directed at him at all.

He tried again to shift his attention back, but the day was unseasonably hot and shone with the bright sunlight of late fall, and his mind, try as he might, wandered. He shifted in his chair and stretched his limbs and wondered whether there would be time in the afternoon to go riding with Laurent. He had to stop his eyes from shifting back over to him.

Something brushed his foot, and Damen’s eyes flashed to Laurent again just in time to catch another tantalizing tilt of his head. Laurent’s boot brushed his again, as Laurent stared pointedly at the councilor speaking at the other end of the table.

Damen’s breath shuddered in his chest, and it wasn’t until Laurent’s heel dug into his foot almost to the point of pain that he realized he was staring again.

It took a nearly physical effort to shift his eyes away from Laurent bathed in late morning sunlight, with the barely-there pressure of his leg against Damen’s. His reward, though, was a lessening of pressure, follow by a shifting of Laurent’s leg until it was pressed against Damen’s, ankle to knee.

He didn’t shift from there, but the barely-there pressure and warmth was maddening. For the next half-hour, Damen took notes, and thought about Laurent; asked questions, and thought about Laurent; completely lost the thread of discussion around three times while thinking about Laurent.

When they broke for lunch, Laurent moved away from him, and Damen looked up, drawing breath to say – something. The look Laurent was giving him seized the breath in his lungs, though, as did the hand that grazed up the entirely of Damen’s arm. The touch could have been accidental, if Laurent ever touched anyone accidentally.

He didn’t, and it burned in Damen’s veins.

They took their time making their way out of the room, Laurent pausing several times to make calculated comments to a councilor and Damen briefly detained to distractedly answer Nikandros’s questions. He felt conscious of Laurent’s presence like a drawing pressure, and he was not even sure what he said to excuse himself from the conversation to follow Laurent out into the hall.

Laurent didn’t look back as he strode down the opposite corridor. Thinking briefly about calling out to him, Damen abruptly changed his mind and instead just matched his pace.

They rounded a corner and Damen barely caught Laurent stepping through a door into a meeting room that hadn’t been used that entire week. Damen stepped inside, and it became immediately clear just how calculated this move was; the window faces the wall of an adjacent building, no chance of being seen, and the door that Laurent closed behind him immediately blocked out the sound from the hall.

Laurent _planned_ this, Damen realized, with heat. And then, _of course he did_ , thinking of servants directing him to Laurent’s room and being backed up against a bed the same way he was currently being backed up against a wall.

“You are easily led,” Laurent said, voice soft and teasing. He was fully in Damen’s space, pinning Damen against the wall purely by the force of his presence; no part of them was touching, and yet they were so close that phantom sensations left shivers down Damen’s arms and spine.

“Not by just anyone,” Damen returned, and Laurent looked pleased at that.

He reached up to trace a hand up Damen’s jaw, across his cheek. The single point of contact burned with intensity, making Damen’s breath come a little faster. Laurent murmured low into the space between them, “Don’t touch me.”

It was a familiar command, and one that made tension curl in Damen’s chest. Laurent, regardless of time or circumstance, did not rush this part. He ran hands down Damen’s clothed chest, dipping nearly beneath his waistband before sweeping back up. As he leaned in, his breath spilled over Damen’s neck, making him tilt his head back to beg for contact. He could feel Laurent laugh at him, and couldn’t seem to care.

Fingertips and palms ran down his arms, down to his hands to gently pin them to the wall while Laurent’s whole body pressed to Damen for barely long enough to register the feeling. Damen’s skin was a riot of sensation, everything from his waist to his thighs pulsing in time with his heart.

Laurent, he had found, was an exquisite tease, and Damen was sure that he did it on purpose and equally sure that he didn’t know the _agony_ inflicted on Damen when he did this.

A hand slipped down, traced over the bulge in Damen’s pants and Damen gasped a breath, arched into it. He could hear Laurent breathe out, half-gasp, half-laugh.

“What do you think?” he whispered, and Damen tilted his head back down to look at him. He looked mischievous, and thoughtful, and flustered despite the fact that Damen had held to the command and not laid a finger on him. “Time for lunch?”

Damen didn’t grasp the meaning of his words until Laurent began to pull back and Damen _ached_ with the absence. “Laurent,” he said, part plea, part warning.

Laurent met his eyes, and their gaze held for a long time.

Damen almost reached out, but when his hand twitched, Laurent’s eyes flicked to it like they would to the knife in the hand of someone he didn’t trust. This was a test, though the exact nature of it was beyond Damen.

And Damen didn’t love it, but as he relaxed his hand against the wall – as he let himself let go of the tension that had been building towards nothing and swallowed his cringe at the cold space Laurent left behind – he thought he at least understood the purpose of it.

Laurent smiled as he left Damen behind in the meeting room, and Damen watched the door close after him without a word.

* * *

 

The afternoon was exquisite torture.

The unseasonal heat had graduated to sweltering inside the poorly-circulated meeting room, and Laurent had loosened (though, of course, not undone) the laces surrounding his wrists. His skin had flushed a little in the heat, though he hardly looked flustered.

Damen tried hard to concentrate on the meeting. He shifted some papers and stared at the figures on them. He watched the person speaking, an advisor from a northern city who he had seen but whose name he could not remember. The speaker passed around a supplies sheet for them to examine, and Damen’s fingers grazed Laurent’s as he passed it.

The touch was intentional – it had to be, didn’t it, being Laurent? Or had he finally relaxed enough to spare unintentional, meaningless touches to Damen? Both seemed tantalizing. He glanced at the bare wrist and pale, curled fingers, inches from his own. The same hands that had, less than an hour before –

Someone’s voice raised at the other end of the table, and Damen tuned into the discussion only to realize he had no idea what the conflict even was. Laurent was right. He was distracted, and someone could take advantage of it, though there were enough advisors that he trusted involved in these meetings that someone would alert him if anything was going too awry.

 The final hour of the afternoon meetings dragged by, but Damen forced himself to pay attention. He even began to contribute, as he noticed several glaring flaws in the practicality of some increasingly convoluted strategies designed to manage the border.

He didn’t look at Laurent, but did not need to to feel his eyes burning into the side of his head. A hand brushed his again, as he passed a map blindly to his left while trying to concentrate on resource distribution.

This time, when the meeting wrapped up (a tedious process that had Damen getting distracted again, counting stones in the wall to keep himself from looking back at Laurent) and was finally dismissed, neither wasted any time in heading for the door. They weren’t alone; the late afternoon recreation before dinner was due to begin soon, and everyone was antsy.

Still, once they removed themselves from the crowd, Laurent slowed down. Damen caught up to him and finally allowed himself to look.

“What do you think?” Laurent asked. He was looking up at Damen through his lashes, deliberately coquettish in a way that would look seductive and sweet if you had never met him. There was a flush to his cheeks, brought on by austere clothes and heat, that added to the picture. Damen lost his breath. “Shall we join them at the sports? Enjoy some refreshments with the councilors?”

“Laurent.”

“I’ve been told the slaves are simply lovely – “

“ _Laurent_.”

Damen’s voice came out choked. He took a single step in towards Laurent, deliberate, crowding his space without trapping him.

Laurent’s eyes grew minutely wider, and lost their faux-flirtatious air. They took on something more serious, which made heat flare in Damen’s spine in response.

“Have I tested your patience?” Laurent challenged, but the way that Damen’s eyes couldn’t move from Laurent seemed to be answer enough.

Taking a step backward, Laurent held Damen’s gaze for a long moment before turning off down the hall, the command to follow him implicit.

They took the walk back to Damen’s rooms at a swift pace, such that even the few who saw them didn’t dare to greet them. Damen couldn’t see Laurent’s face, but he could guess at the serious expression based on the way that the guards they passed straightened in their posts.

When Laurent all but slammed the door to Damen’s rooms, he experienced a moment of doubt. Laurent had the same solid look of determination on his face that he had when he cornered him at Ravenel, and Damen felt the same apprehension.

He opened his mouth to say something – to assure Laurent that this wasn’t an _obligation_ \-- when he was suddenly being kissed.

The uneasiness didn’t leave, but Laurent was as engaging kissing as he was speaking. He moved with slow, deliberately captivating movements. Swipes of tongue across his lip and then against his tongue; a gentle sucking on his lip that Damen felt echoed in his stomach; a hand slipping inside his trousers.

Damen almost didn’t notice that part until it was too late, and even then he only got out “Laurent,” before being silenced again.

Wary of having a repeat of that first time again, though, Damen forced concentration – close to what he’d been doing all afternoon, only drastically harder with Laurent’s hand slowly moving against him – and said, “Laurent.”

“Be quiet,” whispered against his lips, too quiet to tell if the tone was flirtatious or warning.

“Let me touch you.”

Laurent went so unnaturally still that Damen opened his eyes in concerned, and met blue ones that were staring at his face, completely expressionless. Finally, in that same low whisper, Laurent said, “If you must.”

The tone changed after that, though, as Damen finally reached down, smoothed his hands down Laurent’s sides and earned a shiver in reaction, kissed his lips and down the side of his jaw, towards his neck, and felt Laurent’s hands falter in response.

He’d lost most of his trousers and nearly all of his composure by the time he spun them around to get Laurent against the wall, the better to undo his damnable laces. Laurent, however, pushed him away after only a few seconds, though not hard. “You are not fucking me against the wall.”

“I didn’t have any specific purpose in mind – “ Damen began.

“There is a bed not ten paces behind you,” Laurent continued, and Damen felt a solid pulse of heat through himself.

“Alright,” he agreed, an idea forming in his mind. He looked down at Laurent’s face, careful to give nothing away in his expression, so that he could see the full flash of indignity in his eyes as he reached down, grasped him by the thighs, and lifted him easily.

Laurent did not disappoint, actually jolting in Damen’s arms as he threw out both hands to steady himself on Damen’s shoulders.

“You – “ he said, sounding so scandalized that he reminded Damen of nothing so much as a wet cat. Damen cleared the steps to the bed quickly, unsure if Laurent was about to flay him for the indignity once the shock wore off. Half a moment later, though, Laurent burst out laughing. “You _giant animal_. Is this how you carry off innocent damsels? Because you may have noticed that I am no such thing. Put me _down_.”

“Alright,” Damen said, laughter and relief in his voice, and deposited Laurent none-too-gently on the bed. He bounced slightly as he landed, a small noise startled out of him.

If Laurent’s pride was wounded, it was mended immediately by the look that he found on Damen’s face when he looked up at him. There was still some laughter in his eyes, in fact, as he laid back on the bed, spreading himself out seemingly purely by accident.

“Is this an improvement, your majesty?” Damen asked, already drawn down to Laurent’s body as if being pulled.

“I told you, you may use my given name,” Laurent said, in lieu of an answer. Damen ran a hand up his side, and felt a shiver run through his entire body. The tension had gone out of Laurent and it was intoxicating to feel, even now, when he’d had the chance half a dozen different times.

Laurent, pliant, was – a gift. A miracle. More powerful than any _chalis_ he had ever taken.

“Is this an improvement, Laurent?” he said, in his ear.

Laurent’s breath caught. A hand came up, traced Damen’s ribs, as he seemed to remember how to breathe.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Damen.”

His name from Laurent’s lips set fire to something in him, more urgent than they’d been at the doorway, more desperate than he’d been after Laurent had walked out on him earlier that day. His hands, previously gentle, were suddenly everywhere; he was kissing Laurent and unsure how to stop.

The rhythm of their give-and-take, even now, pulled at them; Laurent made the first move towards his laces, and Damen let him do that, licked at his neck where the skin was revealed and got to savor the feeling of Laurent’s hands shaking slightly between them. He sucked at the base of Laurent’s neck, and, when he wasn’t immediately reprimanded, did it again, and was rewarded with a soft moan.

He wasn’t sure when he lost his clothes, was aware of Laurent losing his only in that there was more skin that he was touching, smooth and burning hot.

When he felt the heat and hardness of Laurent brush against him he jolted, suddenly so close to the edge that he teetered there for a moment, and Laurent made a noise – part gasp, part laugh, sounding surprised by the intensity of his own reactions. Damen reached down and wrapped a hand around both of them, too hot and too tight, and Laurent made that noise again, barely voiced and yet loud in Damen’s ears.

He pulled back so he could see Laurent’s face properly, bringing the hand that wasn’t wrapped around them up to cup Laurent’s head, to run through his hair. Laurent’s eyes fluttered open and their gaze caught, and held.

Damen’s hand stroked again, and Laurent’s eyelashed fluttered; again, and he closed his eyes, cheeks burning and yet not moving away, not trying to hide.

His hand sped up and Laurent shifted beneath him, small noises and small movements that Damen drank in every part of. He reached up to return the hand tangled in Damen’s hair, leaned his head back and breathed so hard every breath was a gasp.

“I didn’t,” Laurent gasped, his voice cracking on the edge of a whisper, a shudder running through his entire body and he was so close, Damen could feel it, could feel his own body echoing it, “Didn’t know it could – “

He came, arching with it, virtually silent but his body speaking so loudly that it flooded Damen’s senses, and he was gone too.

He came down slow, in a drifting afterglow, to find Laurent still next to him. It occurred to him, after a second, that the weight of the lower half of his body was still resting on Laurent, and that he might actually be trapped because of it. With strenuous effort, he managed to shift his legs to the side, but then tentatively slid an arm around Laurent’s waist.

He finally opened his eyes to find Laurent gazing at him, appearing almost – confused.

“Do you always think this hard in the afterglow?” Damen asked, affectionately.

“Do you always allow yourself to abandon coherent thought so easily?” Laurent returned, although his gaze softened and he was still lying under Damen’s arm, pliant, so his words held no real sting.

“Not easily,” Damen said, and got to watch red suffuse into Laurent’s cheeks, an echo of the arousal that had been there minutes before.

Another moment of silent contemplation passed, Damen basking and Laurent, as always, attempting to think himself ten steps ahead.  He finally drew breath, and said, “There are much easier conquests in this castle, you know.”

Damen blinked, long and slow. The arm on Laurent’s waist tightened. “What?”

“I am not – “ Laurent faltered. “There are others who could give this to you. Conquests that would not – leave you waiting, or test your control – “

“Ah, so it _was_ intentional,” Damen said, which did not, he was aware, help the situation.

“And yet, if the court gossip is to be believed – and it generally is, on matters like this – you haven’t taken a single one of them to bed since you assumed your throne.” Laurent was looking at him like a challenge, and if there was something vulnerable in his gaze, it was so far buried that it was possible Damen was imagining it.

But then, Laurent was naked and still tangled in him, their heartbeats not even fully steady yet, so perhaps he wasn’t.

“But didn’t you say it, once?” Damen asked. “It’s the game I like.”

A smile twitched at the edges of Laurent’s mouth. He relaxed back into the pillows, blond hair fanned around him, eyes soft, and he was suddenly, shockingly, so beautiful that Damen felt it like a physical blow. “This is a game?”

“I don’t know,” Damen said. “I’m having fun. Aren’t you?”

A shocked second of silence later, Laurent laughed like spun gold, as the light of the sun their countries shared streamed in the window.


End file.
